Catalysts
by Lisp
Summary: 'Seven days for seven ways that their bond is as strong as their own idiotic stubbornness.' A collection of one-shots for SoMa Week 2014, updated daily. Day 5 - 'Wounds.'
1. Chapter 1

**Catalysts  
****(SoMa Week 2014)**

* * *

**Day One  
Roommates**

* * *

Soul would swear on his life that she did it on purpose.

He grabbed up the X-Box controller, his eyes focussing instantly on the screen before him, as she padded quietly into the lounge room to try and alleviate her boredom. He began to play the game with vigour before his eyes could meet hers, and the game's theme music managed to cover her words enough for him to pretend he didn't hear her at first.

He _swore_ she did it on purpose.

Maka frowned when he didn't immediately respond to whatever it was she had said, putting her hands on her hips and raising an eyebrow. When Soul didn't glance up at her, she went to stand in front of the television, blocking his view of innocent things like the splattering of his opponent's blood against the shitty graphics of the building behind him.

_Fuck his life_.

She did it on purpose.

If there was one thing Soul 'Eater' Evans could say he'd been Chopped for more than anything else in his life so far, it was jokes about his meister's figure. He couldn't help it – she left herself wide open for smart remarks every time, and really, who wouldn't go for the option of making her go all red and winding her up like a kid's toy?

Apparently, everyone with a brain. Something he severely needed, according to her.

His favourite thing about calling out Maka's _assets_ – or lack thereof – was her inability to do anything about it. Despite his gene pool of _'fucked-up'_ providing her with more than enough material to make a joke about his appearance, she never went for it. He didn't know why, but he used it to his advantage. His meister's mind was a fearsome thing to behold, and he'd rather take the brunt of her fists than the barbs of her witty comebacks any day. He had a trump card whenever she was winning an argument; she did nothing but hit whenever the topic came up, and although that usually meant he'd lose the fight overall, he'd keep his dignity and their partnership in tact so long as he didn't step _too_ far out of line.

Then again, living on the edge was the kind of thing cool guys like him did.

So he'd been pretty content to rile her up with a smart comment and then privately smile over how cute she was right before she went in for the kill, for the majority of their partnership. It was a habit, one that was good for the health and mindset of neither of them, but one that managed to detract attention from the seriousness and fear that shrouded the lives of teenage hit-men against the world of evil in a light of normalcy and light banter.

Until two months ago, that was. That was when she'd pulled the rug out from under his feet, and smiled and waved as he fell down into the abyss. That was the day she decided it was too hot to wear anything other than her shorts and a crop top around the house.

He'd never regretted not fixing the air conditioner when he had the chance more. Because as beautiful as it was to discover his own home could become a haven of all his weird and quiet fantasies regarding his precious meister, he had a problem.

_She was his roommate and his everything and he kinda-sorta-maybe couldn't stop staring at her. _

"We don't have anything in the pantry to make for lunch unless you want ramen _again_," she said shortly, leaning forward to make sure he didn't just glance around her to keep playing his game. "Do you want to go to the supermarket, or just go out to eat?"

As if she needed to lean forward to capture his attention.

As soon as his eyes trained onto her sleep shorts and the over-sized shirt she was wearing – _his shirt_ – he may as well have been a dog waiting to be told to roll over. For all of her contempt towards the 'dollymops' of Death City, as she fondly called them, she had a certain ability to wear the shortest pants or skirts possible and walk in the most alluring way possible, making him keep his affable mask on at all times to stop himself collapsing on the ground and _crying_ over what he desperately wanted but could likely never have.

There was no way she could miss the way his jaw instantly clenched as his eyes met hers, nor the way he unconsciously dropped the controller onto his lap as she became the only visible thing in the entire state of Nevada. She _had_ to be doing it on purpose. There was no other option.

When he continued to do nothing but look at her while keeping his face straight and any shreds of his self restraint intact, she cocked an eyebrow, frowning. "Well? Which one do you want to do?"

"Uh . . . whatever, I guess?"

"You weren't even listening to me, were you?"

"No, I totally was. You said something about _food_, and then – uh – something else about food."

She rolled her eyes with a scowl that had him equally horrified at her levels of 'adorable' – because he was _manly as fuck_ and to be this whipped was pathetic – and on alert for any oncoming books to the skull. "That _would_ be all you heard, idiot. I don't feel like shopping, so we'll just go get some lunch at Deathbucks or something, yeah?"

Soul nodded slowly, still trying to catch up on the subject they were on rather than his own demented thought process. "Sounds good. I guess I'll go have a shower, then."

She must have seen this as a somewhat decent response, because the hands moved from the hips to her sides and she smiled as she straightened up. "Good; I'm going to get changed. I'll call Black*Star and Tsubaki too, yeah?"

"Nah," he said after a moment. "Black*Star lost a bet to me the other day and he's still shitty. Let's just go by ourselves – it'll be more fun that way, anyway."

He didn't even think about the words until they were out; but there they were, drifting in the air between the two of them, full of implications and _feelings_, before he could snatch them back and stuff them down his throat to reside in his stomach like usual. Fuck, he was out of it today. Maka started wearing short pants and he was out for the count, apparently – forget any sort of Kishin threat, forget Crona, forget his Black Blood. Forget the freakin' Maka Chop.

_Maka Albarn's legs_ would be the death of him.

And as soon as he got onto that thought process, the shower suddenly seemed like a _very _good idea. Preferably if it was as cold as ice.

He made his lame exit, shutting off the X-Box in one move and scuttling to his room to get his clothes in the next, leaving any sort of 'cool' he once possessed sitting on the couch and shaking its head as it watched his dumb ass run away. He may be the Last Death Scythe, he may have been the one to turn Asura's innards into a Death-damn _musical score_, and he may have the strongest manipulation of liquid madness of the planet, but he was no match for her and her purposeful yet seemingly-ignorant use of the assets she was strongly gifted with. After all this time, she'd found the perfect retaliation weapon, and he couldn't escape. He lived with her, for Death's sake. Despite him practically living out every teenage guy's fantasy of sharing a house and therefore a _bathroom_ with the girl of his dreams, no matter how flat and tempestuous she may have been, he could honestly say one thing as he ducked his head and mourned his own idiocy as he searched for his shirt.

Having Maka as a roommate was the worst thing ever in the best of ways.

* * *

Maka would swear on her life that he did it on purpose.

She hastily strode into her room, her hands reaching to cover her red cheeks, as he padded into the shower to get ready to go to lunch. She opened up her drawers and dug around in piles of clothing with vigour before she could let her mind wander, and the rustling managed to cover whatever words he'd called out enough for her to pretend she didn't hear him at first.

She _swore_ he did it on purpose.

She sighed as the black skirt was thrown on her bed, putting her hands over her face and shutting her eyes tightly. When her own inner voice began to chastise her for being so stupid, she allowed herself to sink onto the mattress like the fabric, blocking her thoughts of harsh things like how close she'd come to screwing it all up yet again.

_Screw her life._

He did it on purpose.

If there was one thing Maka Albarn could pride herself on, it was keeping up a hard and resilient front among all of her other friends. Whenever one of them would sigh and swoon over a romantic twist in another's life or gush about a dreamy new axe-meister, she had to be there to roll her eyes and shortly announce her contempt for the whole 'romance' business. After all, she knew personally that love and sentimentality were lies, and really, who wanted to waste their time listening to sickeningly sweet sonnets about how lovely their eyes were or how their hair shone in the moonlight?

Apparently, everyone with a heart. Something she severely needed, according to her friends.

However, she had a dirty little secret to hide from everyone, and that was the fact that despite every bone in her body screaming at her to vomit whenever a boy began to act like some sort of Romeo or Prince Charming, she had a romantic side just waiting to kick down the icy walls of her heart and burst out into song and dance. Despite her parents' marital life of _'screwed up'_ influencing her to keep far away from anything with a Y chromosome, she couldn't keep away. She didn't know why, but she kept it hidden deep within her so that nobody would ever find out. The life of love and affection was a fearsome one to behold, and she'd rather spend her days wrapped up by a couch with a book in her hands than wrapped up in the arms of some sort of modern-day Superman. But she had one problem, and that was her inability to remain unaffected whenever one _certain _boy did anything that could be remotely constituted as affectionate, and that was where the inner romantic kicked in and punched her right in the feelings. Soul 'Eater' Evans was ruining her life with every tiny thing he did to make it better, and she had to keep herself well away from the dangerous precipice that was falling into _caring_ _too much_ about him.

Then again, living on the edge was the kind of thing fearless girls like her did.

So she'd been pretty content to mask her pleasure at his little passing compliments or offered hands to stand with an air of irritation and ignorance, and then privately smile over how sweet he was right before he ruined it by making a joke about her chest, for the majority of their partnership. It was a habit, one that was good for the trust and hearts of neither of them, but one that managed to detract attention from the steadily building tension of their living situations and the secret glances she just couldn't stop making.

Until two months ago, that was. That was when he'd stuck his leg out to trip her, and laughed as she fell down onto her face. That was the day they got home from a mission and he bandaged her heavily-bleeding arm for her, and looked her in the eyes and told her he was '_so fucking glad she was okay because he didn't know what he'd do otherwise.'_

She'd never regretted not making a clean kill in the mission when she'd had the chance more. Because as beautiful as it was to hear those kinds of caring and blatantly _honest_ words slip from her partner's lips, she had a problem.

_He was her roommate and her everything and she kinda-sorta-maybe melted at every little thing he said._

"Get a grip Maka – you're acting like some sort of crappy protagonist in a two-penny romance novel," she said shortly to herself, picking out the rest of her outfit to make sure it seemed pretty but casual enough for their not-in-any-sort-of-way-date. "Why did I have to suggest we should go out to eat?"

As if she needed to dig herself into an even deeper hole.

As soon as she thought back to the words he had just uttered before – "_It'll be more fun that way, anyway" – _she may as well have stuck a bright red sign with the words 'I Think I've Fallen For You In The Forever Kind Of Way' onto her head. For all of his snide remarks about how much time they spent together and how she ate way too much for a girl whenever they went anywhere, he had a certain ability to say the sweetest or most stereotypically romantic things possible and grin in the most alluring way possible, making her hastily retreat with her tail between her legs to stop her collapsing on the ground and _crying_ over just how much he'd kicked her prejudice and distaste towards men in the metaphorical crown-jewels.

There was no way he could miss the way her neck flushed before her cheeks when he'd given her that small far-away look while saying he'd rather go out with her than his best 'bro', nor the way she failed to make any sort of response as his low, deep voice became the only audible thing in the entire state of Nevada. He _had _to be doing it on purpose. There was no other alternative.

When he knocked lightly on her door and asked if she was ready to go yet, she managed out a feeble '_almost'_ while glancing from her still pyjama-clad body to the outfit on the bed.

"I'll – probably be about ten minutes."

"You haven't even started getting dressed yet, have you?"

"I totally have. I'm just changing what I'm wearing because – um – I just don't like how this outfit looks."

He gave a scoff that carried through the wooden door which had her equally embarrassed that she'd spent so much time thinking that she hadn't even gotten ready – because she was _Maka Albarn_ and she never wasted time thinking about idle things – and on alert in case he decided to come into her room while she was actually getting dressed. "You _would_ be choosing a million different outfits, fickle woman. I'm getting hungry now, so hurry it up, would you?"

She snapped back while trying to get changed as quickly and quietly as possible. "Shut up. I'll just take forever then."

He must have seen this as an actual challenge, because the joking edge in his voice backed off slightly and it sounded like he'd stepped away from the door. "No need to get threatening here. I'm just sayin'. Besides, you won't even need to take that long to look nice or whatever."

"Really?" she said after a moment. "By the looks of my hair I'll need all morning, but if you think it looks fine then I'll just leave it how it is – it's your opinion that counts, anyway."

She didn't even think about the words until they were out; but there they were, drifting in the air between the two of them, full of insecurity and _feelings_, before she could snatch them back and force them into her heart like usual. Crap, she was out of it today. Soul said an unintentionally-romantic sounding sentence and she was out for the count, apparently – forget Giriko, forget Medusa, forget Soul's Black Blood. Forget the freakin' madness wavelength.

_Soul's rare moments of softness _would be the death of her.

And as soon as she got onto that thought process, the idea of taking longer to change and letting her blush die down suddenly seemed like a _very _good idea. Preferably if she could never come out of her cave and hide amongst her secret sappy novels forever.

She made her lame excuse, throwing on her outfit and deciding to just let her hair fall loose because it would not co-operate in the slightest, leaving any hope to compose herself and actually look nice for when they went for lunch lying on her bed and shaking its head as it watched her tough and unfeminine persona fall away. She may have stabbed through the Kishin herself, she may have taken down the witch Arachne with a single swing, and she may have the strongest Soul Perception talents in her generation, but she was no match for her inner romantic and the aloof, idiotic, surprisingly _charming _personality of her otherwise-asshole partner. After all this time, he'd found the perfect way to melt her fierce exterior and banish her prejudices against men and the world of love and other lies, and she couldn't escape. She lived with him, for Death's sake. Despite her practically living out every teenage girl's dream of a musically gifted and loveable boy being with her all of the time and willing to die to protect her, no matter how cynical and sarcastic he may have been, she could honestly say one thing as she ducked out into the lounge room and avoided making eye contact with him, missing the way his eyes roved over her outfit and a soft light lit his usually blank burgundy eyes.

Having Soul as a roommate was the worst thing ever in the best of ways.

* * *

**If and when my updating is late for this, I apologise in advance. You know me, I suck for deadlines. Happy SoMa week 2014.  
A dollymop is Victorian slang for a middle-class prostitute.**


	2. Chapter 2

**A/N:** _So much swearing. You've been warned._

**Catalysts  
(SoMa Week 2014)**

* * *

**Day Two  
Nose-Bleed**

* * *

It was a Friday, Soul distinctly remembered afterwards, at four in the afternoon, when the world as he knew it ended.

He stared ahead at the horrific scene of battle before him, trying to close his eyes and block out the blood and the sounds of battle. How had this happened? Shibusen had been in a good place, as far as keeping track of the weird and wacky shit went; the treaty with the witches was going strong and despite the moon being a glob of Black Blood, they were sitting back and relaxing due to the lack of one _batshit-crazy-ass-Kishin-Asura's presence._ Kid had stepped up to his role as Shinigami-sama with flair and a strong sense of capability, and despite the occasional student winding up butchered at the hands of a tainted soul or two – a common occurrence, really – there was nothing major to mourn and nothing massive to prepare for.

And then that fateful Friday afternoon arrived, striking out of the blue and wiping out all sorts of common sense. It was like the world received a blow to the stomach, a massive onslaught of insanity wiping out anything that would have been considered reasonable in the world before.

He couldn't help but linger among his fellow Shibusen students, allowing the horror and absolute _shock_ of the situation wash over him like the blood did on the cobblestone courtyard. He was paralysed, rooted to the spot in disbelief, and his brain was completely fucking _screaming_ for him to move and do something. But he couldn't. His eyes would not move from the chaos any more than his feet would from the ground.

Because everything he'd ever believed was a lie, and he was going to faint from surprise for the first time in his life thus far, and _Maka Albarn was fighting a student without teacher supervision._

That was it. This was the groundbreaking moment that told him everything had gone to shit with the world. His precious, snooty, strict-as-Hell meister, who was as religious with her school rule practices as Justin Law was with Shinigami-sama and Asura in turn, was brawling it out in an all-out fistfight, ignoring the poor substitute teacher's demands to end the chaos. She had blood on her lip and her beloved trench-coat had been abandoned on the ground somewhere behind her, but her eyes shone with a fiery rage that had him torn between getting the nosebleed from Hell because _Death damn it, she looked unfairly hot like this_, and obeying his instincts and the sudden alert throbbing of his skull demanding he run in the other direction as fast as he could. Maka was showing absolutely no mercy nor modesty as she flipped backwards on her hands with her lips pulled into a snarl, her leg twisting to kick her opponent squarely in the face.

The crowd around him hissed as a unit as the girl she was fighting with stumbled back, her nose cracking unpleasantly and a large amount of blood pooling on her parted lips. Her teeth were already slightly stained with red, and she brought her white shirt sleeve up to wipe some away as she eyeballed the blonde meister back viciously. Maka only grinned unfeelingly before going in for another punch, dodging the substitute teacher's attempted intervention as she did.

"What the actual fuck," Soul managed to splutter out, mostly to himself, as he watched the scene unfold.

Before the next hit could even make purchase, a loud voice sounded right in his ear, making him jump and shake his head to clear it slightly. "Yeah, let's go Maka! You _kick_ that chick's ass!"

"Black*Star," Soul muttered weakly, not even holding the mental fortitude to turn around. "What the _Hell_ is going on?"

His best friend gave a loud laugh before booing with the crowd when the teacher tried to jump in to break up the brawl. Fights were commonplace at Shibusen and most teachers allowed them to go ahead due to the nature and ability of the students involved. The sub clearly hadn't been educated on this, and she was gesticulating wildly and crying something about finding Stein soon. When the disquiet died down and the fight took up the main portion of the commentary again, the blue-haired ninja remembered the question. "Well, see, Maka's finally freakin' lost it!"

"I can see that – but what the fuck actually _happened?_ Am I going crazy? Is my Black Blood taking over or some shit?"

"Nah man, this is one-hundred percent legit! While you were gettin' lunch this bitch just came up to the table and grabbed Maka's arm. She dragged her from her chair and started yellin' a bunch of shit, and Maka yelled back somethin' or other, and then the black-haired chick threw a punch."

"And this just happened, then?"

"Uh-huh! Seems like she knew the chick, and was tired of takin' shit for things that weren't her fault. That's what we've worked out from the yellin' – _fuck off, just smash her!_

The Death Scythe turned back quickly when Maka took a small blow to the stomach only to have her left arm come up and yank the hair of the girl she fought as her knee slammed into her core. His muscles tensed and he had to fight the urge to jump in there and grab his meister before she did something stupid.

But he couldn't just interfere like that, not so long as she wasn't in real danger. After all, in a school like Shibusen, meisters especially had to be able to show dominance when challenged. If he went in there and broke up the fight, Maka's battle reputation could be lowered and she'd seem too weak to finish her own messes. She'd probably end up using the rest of her anger on _him,_ and Death knew his skull couldn't take it. Besides, if something had angered her enough to make her abandon her perfect-student alias, then shit must have gone down. Major shit.

There might have also been a tiny part of him that was extremely proud of just how gigantic an ass-whooping she was giving the other girl. Her moves were sharp and deadly, showing off her experience on the field and her palm smashed directly into the chin of her opponent, causing her head to flip back and her black hair to go flying out of her face.

As soon as he saw this face, blood aside, Soul froze on the spot. Any thoughts of breaking up the fight or worrying for his meister's safety flicked out of his head to be replaced with surprised recognition and an instant feeling of dread. _Well, fuck._

He knew this girl.

Knew her face, anyway; it was none other than the sickle blade-meister who had asked him earlier in the day to partner up with her. She'd done so in a very suggestive manner, indicating that she was not so much concerned with his _weapon form_ when asking for a 'partnership', even if he was the Last Death Scythe.

He'd already been approached by another girl five minutes ago, causing Maka to walk off in a huff, and he'd been pissed as he attempted to catch up with her. As such, the black-haired meister had received the brunt of his frustration and irritation. His declination hadn't exactly been polite.

"_Look, I'm happy with the meister I have now and you probably couldn't manage my wavelength if it fucking twisted in your palm like a shoelace, so how about you stop asking and just leave me the fuck alone already?"_

Yeah. Definitely not his classiest refusal.

If this girl had some sort of 'beef' with his meister, there was no doubt his earlier actions had thrown the wood on the proverbial fire and his words had been the breath of air to stoke a blaze into an all-out inferno. If the confrontation had happened at lunch, it was likely _his_ deed of being a cold-hearted asshole as per usual was what had caused this fight, or at least provoked it into happening now.

And if Maka knew _he_ was to blame for the breaking of her perfect school record as far as unauthorised fights went, he was well and truly fucked, because everyone who was anyone was crowding around to watch her lose control of her tightly packed fury. People would be talking about this for days. Every time someone brought it up, whose skull was going to get pummelled for being the instigator of her adventure through the rumour mill?

His. _Aw, Hell._ Maybe he should just turn and run before the fight ended . . .

But there was no time and no need. Just as he thought the words, Maka caught her opponent around the waist and pushed her up into the wall, not holding back when her head hit the stones. She then brought back her arm, and the entire crowd held their breath as the fist was sent flying and the other girl's nose gave one final _snap_ as it gave up trying to sit in place. In one fluid motion the dark-haired girl's body slid down the wall, her eyes slightly rolled back into her head as a boy who must have been her partner rushed over to try and catch her.

The fight was over.

Maka had _destroyed._

She only managed one grin at the slumped form of her enemy before a loud and rumbling voice cut across the beginnings of the audience's cheers.

"_Miss Albarn! That is enough. Follow me to the Death Room _now_, no complaints!"_

Sid had this talent for making people jump two feet in the air with his deep voice. It must have been a zombie thing.

Soul could only watch in concern as his meister dropped her head and cut a path through the crowd of onlookers, following Sid and completely disregarding the substitute teacher who lay balled-up on the ground, likely scarred for life.

She may be best friends with a God of Death and a Warrior God, but Maka had some sort of inhuman strength all her own. As his eyes followed her back into the school, his stomach rolling at the thought of just how foul her mood would be after this and worry about whether she was all right bouncing around his brain like a skipping record, his skull never stopped throbbing in expectance of a Maka-Chop.

As he glanced involuntarily back at the broken unconscious remains of her opponent, he honestly had to take a step back and consider.

_How the _fuck_ have I lived this long?_

* * *

He found her an hour later, in the gym of all places. She was muttering under her breath with slit eyes as she polished up the sparring equipment, the practice dummies already shining beside her. There was still a dribble of blood on her face, connecting her left nostril and her lip. Apparently before she'd smashed the other girl's face in, one decent hit had been landed.

"I remember the first time I had to clean this shit out for detention," he mused aloud. She jumped slightly, surprising him – her Soul Perception would have let her know he was here unless she was too wound up to pay attention. "Did you know we have a mechanical bull in the top box of that back store room? 'Coz I sure as Hell wish I'd known when Black*Star was playing Truth or Dare."

He expected her to give some sort of response of disapproval and snap at him for being so insensitive. That was what he _intended_ for her to do. No matter how much he may have suffered for it, it would be worth it if she took some anger away from herself and redirected her frustration at him like she normally did.

But she merely made some sort of sigh and continued her work, getting her thin fingers between the joints of a human shaped target board as she cleaned out the dust and bullet discharge shards. He frowned and when she made no other offer of conversation, approached slowly and warily. This was the side of her he was never used to – the self-loathing one, the one that kept things inside rather than venting to him in her normal way.

Hating who you were and torturing yourself by keeping your feelings inside were things _he_ did on the daily basis. Not _her_. She was stealing his thunder.

"Maka?" he began softly. No answer. "Ma-ka?"

She shifted to keep herself from facing him, and he smirked despite the situation. If she wanted him to annoy her for her attention, he was well equipped for the task. Abandoning any sort of delicacy and reserve, he walked up behind her and leaned completely over her until he blocked out her light source and view from above, his face looking down at hers as she finally glanced upwards in irritation.

"What do you want, idiot? You want to gloat, go ahead, but I have a job to do, so I'm too busy to gratify you." She pushed at his face half heartedly, making him stumble and veer to the side in an effort to not fall over. "If you're not here for anything important, go away."

So _that_ was the mood she was in. Angry and seeking solitude. He could work with this somewhat, although he'd prefer if she was being openly pissed. "You aren't here to do a job. You're here doing a _punishment_, and you're getting punished because you just practically killed some girl from Class Half-Moon. What's the deal?"

"Nothing."

"Oh, yeah, you just get in an all out fight for the first time in your entire education for 'nothing.' What the fuck did she say to you, anyway?"

"I said _nothing_, Soul. Just leave it alone!" she replied sharply, crossing the room quickly and carrying the sparring equipment back to the side cupboard to escape him. "It's stupid, anyway."

"It's not stupid, _you're_ stupid. Why're you going around throwing punches, even after the substitute told you to stop? Just what was going on between you and that chick? And don't tell me it wasn't anything," he added, "because I know I pissed that same girl off something awful earlier in the day, right before she came to talk to you."

Maka froze. "You did?"

_Oh, shit._

"Uh – yeah, I might have," he said in a much less firm voice. Crap, she hadn't already known that. He'd just signed his own death warrant but for her benefit it would be better if he just pressed on. "She tried to get me to be her weapon and I was in a shitty mood so I yelled at her. Were you fighting with her about something, too?"

She paused, but it seemed like she was starting to calm down some as she thought, much to his relief. When her cheeks reddened though, he found himself just as confused as he had been before. Why was she blushing? Just what the Hell had he missed when he'd gone to buy lunch in the cafeteria?

"Maka?" he prompted when she turned to face him again with her eyes downcast. "What was it?"

"She . . . _ugh,_ she just got to me. She's been telling me for the last few days how much of an unworthy partner I am for you, and all of this other stuff." He noted that she didn't say 'rubbish', and his brow wrinkled. That meant she didn't discount the words. "And then this morning she was going _on_ and _on_ about how you'd probably rather _her_ be your meister, and I said she should just go ahead and ask you to partner up and see how it went."

"You _what?_"

"I didn't mean it!" she defended hastily. "I . . . thought you'd turn her down, is all. I wanted her to stop being so smug. But then at lunch she just grabbed me and dragged me away from the table and started calling me a 'slut like my father', and she said it was only a matter of time before you left me for a better partner because that's what my 'good-for-nothing flighty mother' did."

She said all this in a rush, but her fists clenched and her fiery eyes shimmered under the light as if with water for a second before she blinked and the illusion was shattered. "I guess I just sort of snapped, because the next thing I knew I was blocking a punch and throwing back my own."

When he said nothing, Maka cringed and went back to the cupboard and equipment to try and fill the awkward silence. "I know I shouldn't have been so _uncool_, but I couldn't take her anymore. It was stupid to hit her and I'm an idiot for doing it after the teacher tried to stop us but I –"

"That fucking bitch!"

She blinked and whirled, her words cut short, only to meet his livid gaze. He was well aware that his normally lazy eyes were probably blazing, and he could feel his hands itching to clench or to hit. Rage began to bloom in his stomach like a nasty flower. How _dare_ that girl target Maka's insecurities like that? How _dare_ she talk about her as if she were her father, or bring up her beloved mother for the sake of a fight? How _dare_ she think she was better than his precious idiotic meister for him and mostly, _how dare she fucking assume he would ever leave her like that?_

"Soul?"

"You shoulda' hit her harder," he said shortly, picking up one of the dummies she'd missed and coming up alongside her to put it away with a rough amount of force. "'Shoulda' knocked all her freaking teeth out with your foot!"

"Calm down . . ."

"Fuck that, you shoulda' used me! We could have gone Resonance on her ass and cut her into tiny little pieces for talking to you like that!"

She smacked the back of his head lightly with her hand. "Be reasonable, would you? I was mad enough to hit her, not mad enough to _kill_ her."

"Well I freakin' am. Thinking I'd leave you for some other girl like that, saying she'd be better for me than you!"

Maka put a hand on his arm and his glare lessened only when he met her own green eyes, looking slightly conflicted. He let his tense shoulders drop a bit and breathed out once under her reprimanding command, shaking off the sudden wrath that had consumed him. Her wavelength soothed the spikes in his blood and he shook his head, winding down the gears and trying to slip back into his usual state of detachment.

When he finally got himself back under control, he noticed she wastrying to keep back a _smile_, of all things. The touch on his arm got slightly softer as she gripped it comfortingly, the lightest tinge of red marring her cheeks as she looked at him.

"What?"

"You really _aren't_ just going to go off and leave me like that, are you?" she asked quietly, and he couldn't help but appreciate the trust that leaked out of the sentence and warmed his little icy lump of a heart somewhat.

"Not unless you smash my face in like that," he replied, but the unspoken words were there, causing her smile to grow and her hand to slip down into his for a moment as she wound their fingers together.

_Never._

He kept staring at her face for a moment longer and her blush grew as he reached out to touch her cheek . . .

"Would you look at that?" he muttered, instead touching the line of dried blood above her mouth. "And you tease _me_ about getting nosebleeds. You look like a complete closet pervert right now."

Maybe he shouldn't have joked about her smashing his face in. It would only give her ideas.

Well, at least his skull could stop waiting in anticipation for that Maka-Chop now.

* * *

**I didn't want to use the generic and obvious canon idea of Soul getting a nosebleed or anything like that, so I decided to be a bit different with it. Hopefully it worked all right.**

**"And the world stops to look in shock and amazement, lips parted and no air moving in or out of the cavities it calls lungs, as the one unbelievable, impossible realisation strikes it like a cosmic bolt of lightning. _Lisp has updated on time."_**


	3. Chapter 3

**Catalysts  
(SoMa Week 2014)**

* * *

**Day Three  
Insanity**

* * *

She was completely gone.

Soul stared, open-mouthed and horrified, at the shell of his meister as she sat rocking herself in a ball in the corner of the hospital room. Her lips quirked with every few breaths and her eyes stared right through the medical chart hanging off the end of her bed. He could hear Stein muttering specifics and statistics behind him, telling him something about just what possibilities there were and the side effects of receiving such a bad dose of madness on her Grigori-pure soul, but the words went in one ear and out the other.

His heart clenched when her eyes flicked to the clear pane in the door, where he was looking straight at her, but she merely blinked at him a few times before laughing and shaking her head, whispering something over and over quietly.

"Just what the Hell did you do to her?" The words were meant to come out angry, but staring at her, he couldn't manage anything more than a weak exhale.

Stein's voice had never sounded so rock hard and unfeeling. "When she was sent in at the last moment to assist the first-year students in their battle, she took a madness spell from the traitor-witch controlling the set up. It caused mass hallucinations and although it seems as if they have finally ended, she has not been able to regain her sanity or control over her wavelength. We don't know how long she'll stay like this, but when Kim tried to heal her, she just began to scream again. No sort of magical influence will free her mind."

Maka stopped laughing and her eyes went wide, and suddenly she crawled into a ball. Seconds later, soft sobs worked their way out from the crack under the door and into Soul's ears like painful spikes. "What can we do to help her?" he ground out, his hand clenched on the doorknob.

"Well," Stein said after a moment's thought, "I had the theory that if she was exposed to your wavelength for long enough, she might be able to regain enough presence of mind for her Anti-Madness power to kick in. However, I don't know what the Black Blood might do to make the situation worse."

"Will she be in danger if I go in there, then?"

"Who can say?" the doctor replied infuriatingly, but he gave the Death Scythe's shoulder a nudge, indicating that he should enter. The two men entered the room warily, eyeing the girl in the corner, but she showed no indication of noticing their presence. Her crying continued, and she'd begun to shake.

Soul turned to look at the screw-head, but it appeared Stein had no bright ideas on what to do now they were in the same room. They may as well not have entered for all the attention they garnered. His stomach was feeling like an ocean and he couldn't help but restrain the urge to vomit when he watched his meister's weak and uncharacteristic actions.

She was so strong – how did this happen to someone like her?

He had no idea who the idiots were who'd screwed up their mission so badly that she'd needed to go in and assist – _weapon-less,_ as he was still at a conference with the witches as a Death Scythe representative of Shibusen at the time – but as soon as he was satisfied she was better, he was going to hunt them down and figure out just how they could underestimate their mission so badly.

Never mind the fact that the exact same thing had happened to him and Maka all of those years ago, when Crona had sliced right through his chest. His hand came up to unconsciously nurse the scar on his torso as dark thoughts continued to manifest in his mind.

Maybe he wouldn't yell at the kids so much, especially if they were hurt – but _Kid,_ now that was another matter. _He'd_ been the one to let his headstrong little meister go flouncing off into the mouth of danger. She was incredible and any number of low-level tainted souls could be taken out with one of her infamous Maka-Chops alone, but not a rogue witch! Just what kind of shit did that damn Shinigami think he was pulling? Maka was precious to all of them in some way or another, and to send her into such a perilous situation without even assigning her with another weapon, like Tsubaki or someone she could use, no matter how much he hated the thought of her wielding someone else – !

"Soul, stop it," Stein said harshly, gripping his arm with enough force to make him wince. The black clouds in his soul cleared momentarily and he blinked, his attention captured by the demented giggling seeping through Maka's mouth. She'd stopped sobbing and now she was on her back, her arms spread wide as she chuckled. Her eyes were overflowing with tears and she looked like some sort of great pain was tearing her soul to shreds, but her mouth was stretched wide as she laughed at nothing. "Whatever you're thinking about, _stop_. It's affecting her wavelength."

His eyes widened and he bit his lip, ignoring the blood that bloomed on the soft skin because of it. To think that they were so connected even in this state that his foul anger would trigger a reaction in her . . . No matter how far gone she was, it seemed, their link couldn't be broken.

Her laughing stopped the moment he calmed down and her eyes rolled to them, making Soul freeze at the same time as his heartbeat. However, her gaze slid disinterestedly over him as if he wasn't even there and landed on the professor.

"_Stein-hakase. Daijoubu ka?" _she said calmly and almost politely.

"Is she speaking gibberish?" He gaped, but Stein merely frowned in confusion.

"No; it seems she's reverted to Japanese for some reason."

_Fuck_. He only knew about ten words of Japanese – he _knew_ he should watch anime in subtitles instead of dubbing more often. His meister was half Japanese, and she often muttered words he didn't understand in her sleep.

"Why the Hell isn't she speaking English?"

"_Doushite?"_

"I have absolutely no idea; she _is_ in the grip of insanity, after all. I wonder why she reacted to my voice rather than yours, though. One would think it would be the opposite way around."

_For Death's sake, he sounded like he was talking about the weather._

"Why don't you go away?" Maka hissed, and he was forced to look at her once again. "I don't want to take my medicine right now, Professor." She rolled over as she spoke, staring at the wall and peeling at the paint as she did so.

Every tap of her nail made a dint in the plaster.

Stein's mouth flattened out grimly and he nodded once. "I'm going back outside. It's clear my presence here isn't welcome enough in this state, and if I remain she may become upset. Call me if you need anything."

"Wait – you're just going to leave me here with her?" Soul asked in surprise, watching the man exit.

"Yes. Your soul is bonded to hers more than anyone else on this entire planet. It might be better if you two are alone for a while."

The resounding echo of the heavy door closing filled him with an indescribable dread. Soul didn't want to turn back to the girl before him because she was making him uncomfortable. There was no way that was his partner, no matter what any evidence to the contrary said. He'd seen her go crazy before, but he'd been with her when it happened and he'd had some control over the situation. Their souls had been bonded and he'd been able to tell what she was planning as she went off the deep end.

This was completely different. Where her soul was usually calm and melodic, a gentle presence in his mind when he was on the verge of sleep, now it was a horrible piece of chaos where every part fought for the right to be played in forte. Every sound clashed and none of the instruments that made up her wavelength's song were tuned to each other, and he could only allow his soul to press against hers for a few seconds at best before the horrible sound and the cackles of the Oni invaded his brain and began to suck _him_ down into the black pit.

This was bad, and that was the understatement of the year. What the Hell was he meant to do to get his stupid, headstrong, beloved Maka back?

Without turning around, he inhaled shakily. He should try talking to her or something. It might not work, but it would certainly help to calm him down a tad and therefore stop her getting any loopier than she already was.

"So, you've had a pretty shitty day, huh?" he managed weakly, his fists clenched and his words bitter. It was the kind of thing he'd say to her over a casual dinner on a Friday night, when tests had been gruelling and she'd look like she was minutes from sleep or death. Saying it now felt like a mockery.

When she didn't reply, he turned to glance at her. She was thankfully not chipping at the wall anymore, but sitting in a ball like the beginning. Her knees were tucked up to her chest and her bright green eyes watched him solemnly and silently, keeping track of every move he made.

He sighed. "Don't feel like talking, then? Come on, you gotta' say something to me eventually. And not in Japanese, either; you know I don't know that shit."

She continued to stare unnervingly, like a small child enraptured by a magic show. He met her gaze for what felt like less than a second before he had to break off and press his fists over his eyes. She just looked so _empty – _

No. He had to stay strong and do this for her. No matter how hard it was for him to stay calm and okay considering the situation and the way he broke whenever he took in her mournfully useless form for too long, he had to do this. For her. She'd do the same thing for him; she'd sit and talk to him for hours if it meant he had a chance at getting back to sanity again. Then again, when he'd lost it in Moscow, he'd managed to talk _himself_ down by seeing through the ploys of the Oni in his head. As far as he knew, Maka was stuck inside her soul by herself, and she couldn't fight the instigator of the damage to her mind when the enemy and hero were one and the same.

If she couldn't fight herself enough, he'd do it for her. No matter what it took, no matter how much he broke, no matter the pull of insanity threatening his unsteady Black Blood.

After all, they were partners.

So he picked up the shreds of his cracking heart and wrapped up the worry in his stomach, folding it away into a tiny little ball as he made his face arrange a horrid mimicry of its usual careless smirk. His eyes bled sorrow but his mouth at least did not falter.

He'd always been good at faking it.

He made sure to give her a wide berth before he sunk onto the hospital bed, putting his feet up. "You would not _believe_ how bad the conference was today. I had to suffer through a debate on the supremacy of witch-kind compared to _'idiotic male weapons who only think with their' _. . . well, you get the idea. Looks like the Grand Court witch's met your pervy-ass father, hey?"

Soul didn't look at her to gauge her reaction. The deafening sound of her wavelength told him that she likely hadn't even heard a word he'd said. However, he pressed on. "Why do I gotta' keep going to these things anyway? Sure, Marie's off with her kid and Death Scythe's busy helping Kid with somethin' or another – but what about Asuza, or someone that ain't _me?_"

He continued uninterrupted for a while, rambling on and digressing about the usual problems he'd bitch about if she were actually paying attention, ignoring his heavy heart and the headache that was developing as a result of the constant noise. It was only once he'd reached the topic of Marie's child's weird eyes that he got his first response from her.

Throughout his entire monologue, she'd remained still and watched him. It was better than laughing and crying and rolling, but somewhat more eerie. Now, however, she gave out a quick exhale and leaned her head back against the wall with a heavy _thunk_. His eyes snapped to her instantly, thinking by the normal gesture that she might be starting to revert back to normal.

But what he saw was her bitter smile and the single tear that slipped out of her closed lids. When he continued to do nothing but watch her and wait desperately for some other sort of movement, she frowned.

"The music went away," she said, her nose wrinkling in the cute way she used to show displeasure.

"What music, airhead?" he replied, but it was apprehensive.

Maka smiled slightly at his voice and to his shock, answered him. Although, her response didn't make much sense. It seemed as if she were muttering to herself instead. "He's gone, gone, gone. But the music keeps playing. Where's it coming from? He's gone. He's gone, gone, gone."

"Who's gone?"

"He went away, I watched him go away – he ran away like they all do. He's gone, he's gone, and he's not coming back."

"Maka – what are you talking about?" he murmured, standing slowly. If she was giving him some sort of lead as to what was going on in her head, he'd take the bait. "Did you see someone go away?"

She scowled. "Stop teasing me – you know he's gone. I saw him."

"_Who-"_

"I saw him die."

He went stock still as the light tone disappeared, turning into a heavy breath of despair. She repeated herself twice, her head ducking further into her knees, and crying soon replaced her weird speech.

"_He's dead, he's dead, he's dead."_

Soul couldn't help it – he knew it might scare her if he got too near in this state, but he couldn't just watch her collapse like this. As far as he knew, neither of the junior students sent on the mission had died. The girl had been hurt pretty badly, but the male, the weapon, hadn't been hurt by much more than a large scrape sustained when he tried to pull his partner out of the way of a blast. If Maka thought she'd witnessed his death, it could be one of the factors setting her off. She'd blame herself, and when her mind was already hijacked by the madness spell, it would certainly trap her in a state of agonising guilt.

But just as he knelt and opened his mouth to comfort her somewhat, she fell to her side and tried to bury further into her foetal position, and her head began to shake so fast her loose pigtails tumbled out completely. She was still gasping words over and over, and this close, he could catch them.

"_He's dead – Soul's dead. He died, he's gone, Soul's dead, he's gone, he died. Soul died, he's gone, he's not coming back, he died, he's dad, he's gone, he's . . ."_

His outstretched hand snapped back to his side in midair.

She was trapped like this because she thought . . . _he _was dead?

And suddenly it clicked.

Stein had taught them a year ago about madness spells. They tended to target the worst fears of their victims and bring them into the light, making the poor inflicted person envision or experience their absolute nightmares, but with a realistic feeling impossible to shake off. Maka had been hit with one of these types of spells, so she would have seen whatever brought fear to her heart, whatever plagued her nightmares the most.

Apparently, the thing that scared her most . . . was being left without him.

All of his common sense cried out at him not to do it, but there was no other choice. In one movement he reached out and put his hands on Maka's shoulders, ignoring when she stiffened completely, and sat her up. He pulled her close to him and rested his chin on her shoulder, wrapping his arms around her and bringing her to sit half on his lap as he held her. One hand came up tentatively to stroke her hair, and without thinking he whispered quietly into her ear.

"_I'm not dead, I'm here. See, it's all okay, I'm right here. Don't worry, Maka, nothing's going to take me away, I'm right here."_

Somewhere in between his quiet nothings, the angry sound from her wavelength mellowed into a quieter, mournful tune.

Somewhere between the beats of his very-much-alive heart, her arms wrapped around his shoulders and her face buried into his neck.

And as she began to shake in earnest, breathing heavily as the after effects of insanity hit her like a wave, he simply tightened his grip and continued to murmur in her ear.

Because even if it was hard to stay calm.

Even if the Oni cackled behind his ears.

Even if he broke.

No matter how much it hurt.

He'd always be here to bring her back and put her together again.

Even if.

No matter what.

* * *

**I think this is my first ever story with no line breaks. Sorry it's a bit late (if it is, wherever you're reading it, whatever country, time zones ugh). **


	4. Chapter 4

**Catalysts  
(SoMa Week 2014)  
**

* * *

**Day Four  
Loyalty**

* * *

And she thought _she_ had insecurity issues.

Really, he shouldn't have been reacting as badly as he was. It was immature, it was childish, it was stupid, he was stupid, he _deserved this_ because he was a Death-damn _idiot_ –

But he digressed.

He should have expected it. How could he not? It wasn't as if they were kids anymore, stumbling blindly through the world of death and killing. It was the eve of her eighteenth birthday and his had elapsed half a year prior. Technically they were adults. He shouldn't have expected to just go on living the same secluded little life he'd enjoyed for the past six years, living with no cares besides the pressure of nearly having his life ended on a mission every alternate Sunday. What did he think was going to happen? What did he suppose their lives would be like now, seeing as there was no threat from Asura and the witches hadn't planned any sort of revolt against their treaty so far?

He should have seen it coming. He was pretty sure a part of him _had_ seen it coming. But that didn't mean he'd truly accepted the idea. When it had first occurred to Soul that Maka might want to have interaction with other people outside of their close-knit group of friends and _him_, he'd scowled and tucked the thought away in the furthest reaches of his mind. Out of sight, locked away in a drawer where it could no longer bother him.

That drawer would never stay locked forever. Eventually he'd have to open it up again and let all of his fears and pain spill out. Still, he didn't think it would burst open on its own accord, not this soon.

The dark space behind his ear, the echo in his head that was the Black Blood's presence inside him, whispered maliciously. The Oni cackled as it threw its bulbous head back in a roaring laugh, sitting comfortably in the plush and gilded Black Room.

'_You ought to have known this would happen.'_

He'd been hopeful, and it had been his undoing. While he'd carefully built up an ornate mask, concealing all of his emotions and hiding any sort of affection under a flat gaze, a little part of his icy lump of a heart had gotten into his mind and set in poisonous thoughts. It had whispered to him that maybe the reason Maka didn't seem to show any sort of romantic interest in anyone was because she already had an interest in someone else. Someone like . . . him. Perhaps she was holding out for him while he messed around in the dirt of his stupid emotions, keeping her heart locked up because it was _him_ she wanted to give it to.

'_You have to be kidding me!'_

But obviously that had been a stupid thought. Perhaps he should have stuffed it away in the drawer and embraced the other, hated idea. It would probably have saved him a lot of pain in the long run; no matter how broken he would have felt in the beginning.

Could have, should have, would have, didn't. It was the same monotonous cycle that ruled his life. Only now, it had managed to worm its way into the one area of his existence that hadn't been bleak and unexciting. It had taken hold of his fancies and run with them, letting them tangle like a kite string, until he didn't have enough sensibility to detach himself like normal before it was too late. He'd fucked up this one, because he'd actually _cared._ It wasn't like his stupid piano or the Evans estate, and it wasn't like his snotty parents or his talented yet decent older brother.

Death City, being a weapon, Shibusen, his friends, _she_ mattered to him. And that was always the part that made everything go wrong.

'_Did you really think she could actually like someone like _you?_'_

What a stupid notion. His startling and somewhat unfathomable popularity aside, what did he have going for him? He was the Last Death Scythe. So what? It was just some sort of fancy title proclaiming him to be a slightly sharper butter knife than the rest in the drawer. He was able to control the insanity of his Black Blood. That just made him a ticking time bomb full of issues that nobody would want to wade through. His piano? Just some sort of cheap trick, something to give insight onto just how pitch-black his fucked up soul really was. His looks were terrifying, what with his stupidly pale hair and weird sharp teeth and red eyes that looked like the blood spilled by his sickle blade on the pavement . . .

Why he had 'fangirls', he didn't know. There was not one single attribute about him that could be classed as appealing. Even his Death-damn personality was a drawback – he was a haughty, aloof and arrogant bastard to boot, with a tongue sharper than his jaws. It was a miracle he even had friends, let alone admirers.

So that brought him back to the question – how could he think it was _him_ she'd want after all this time? He should have known this was coming, he should have, but here he was. Feeling bitter, petty and pathetic. Betrayed, like something had been stolen from him.

It was a miracle nobody had claimed her before. If he hadn't spent so much time with his head up his ass, thinking he was top shit, _he'd_ have made the move some time ago. Well, he would have at least taken a step towards the move, because he was stuck in the Hellhole of the 'Partner-Zone' and still trying to claw his way into the safer area of the 'Friend-Zone.' Maka may not have developed the figure of Tsubaki Nakatsukasa over the years of her adolescence, but she'd certainly developed _something_, and it was enough to draw in the attention she'd been lacking throughout her board-flat junior life. No more could he call her straight-down, because she had curves now. Maybe not the ostentatious kind, but the ones that had to be felt to be properly appreciated, and that _hinted _without fully disclosing and giving away all of the good information. He was pretty sure the day he noticed all of these changes in his meister was the day his notion of being infinitely cool disappeared forever. He was not, evidently, the kind of guy to go after a figure with a perfect set of breasts and a cinched waist. He wasn't like Black*Star or Kilik. _No,_ he was one to stare at Maka Albarn's legs until she turned around from cooking dinner, and he was one to fall asleep to be greeted by the images of a thin and small body, rather than a tall sensuous figure.

Blair would probably cry if she ever found out, but since he hadn't gotten a proper nosebleed in almost six months, it looked like she was starting to get the picture.

Unfortunately for him, despite the developments to his meister's body being a godsend because living with her gave him an all-access pass to stare at her as much as he could without being detected, he wasn't the only one who noticed. By her seventeenth birthday, letters were piling in _her_ locker with names and partner requests scribbled in ink darker than his soul. He remembered just how _irritated_ he'd been to see those little pieces of paper. How dare anyone else at Shibusen have the audacity to request taking away the most important thing to him? He'd never been sentimental, but she was one thing he wanted to hold onto and was stubborn to release. Wes had never had a share in Maka; nobody else had had a share of her wavelength. As much as he saw her as an independent and individual person, there was still that part of him that insisted she was _his._ Finally, he'd understood the reason his partner had gotten so snippy at him when the paper had started to clutter his locker. They'd gone through so much together, and just the idea that the _option_ was there to switch over and start again with another wavelength and another weapon was infuriating.

If he looked back, Soul would probably notice the beginnings of a co-dependency problem in the making. Too bad that realisation hit him like a fucking train wreck right when everything he'd been secretly hoping for was taken away.

As much as his stomach had knotted and his eyes had blazed, there was always a cooling and soothing jet to put out the inferno. Maka may have taken it one step further than him and actually _read_ a request whenever she received it – he got too many to bother and the idea of even caring about anyone else was ludicrous – she never properly considered any. She got flattered easily, but the blush on her cheeks wasn't one of betrayal. He'd been content to allow the stupid little fucker one-star kids their fantasies of a kickass and experienced meister. Since they could never have her, he'd at least give them that.

And then the note had drifted down onto the cold metal through the slots, landing innocuously beside her books. It was not a partnership request. It was a _love letter._ For her. His meister. And when she read it, she didn't discount it like she did all the others. She didn't show it to him, instead taking it to Liz and Tsubaki. One gushed, the other smiled proudly. Patti had even crowed about it, giving a rib-crushing hug.

While her ribs were crushed, his heart mirrored the action.

'_Stupid fool! You shouldn't have held out so long. Anyone can see you aren't worth waiting for.'_

She was out on a date, wearing a dress that brought out her ass like no tomorrow and just the right amount of eye-shadow to turn those beautiful green orbs into something smokier and dangerous. She'd smiled at him and asked him to check her outfit for her before she left, and it had taken all of his best efforts not to pin her against the wall and rug her up in his hoodie or something. At least then there would be some kind of distinct message that she was _his_, in his mind. As it was, he'd merely glanced up lazily and ignored the tightening of his throat, informing her of the crookedness of the left chopstick in her artfully messy bun, before going back to the television. What else could he do? Tell her she wasn't allowed to go because he was a creep who sort of loved her desperately, but only realised he couldn't keep her all to himself like a spoilt child when she went away and left him alone?

That wouldn't be cool at all.

'_Where has being cool ever gotten you? You're cold. You're unfeeling. You're nothing but a shell filled with useless life. What have you ever done to better anyone? She doesn't need you.'_

Soul knew Maka wouldn't be home for another few hours and he was determined to fall into the bliss of sleep, but even that was not something he could claim. The Black Blood of the moon sang at his discordance and danced in time with the Oni's crooked waltz in his soul. He was a captive to his own bitterness and the sway of insanity always hanging over him like a cloud. What a loud of baggage for an eighteen year old guy. Nobody in their right minds would wait for someone like that. No matter what he and Maka had gone through together, he was her partner and that was all. Why hadn't he seen it before? She'd gotten over her prejudice of men somewhat and he'd let himself believe that he'd contributed to her cure, but it didn't seem that likely now. Maybe the walls had already been rigged with dynamite and he was just the fool who'd stumbled along with a burning match, sending the tall prison structure around her heart crashing down upon him and leaving a clear path for anyone else who wanted to walk right through and claim the prize.

The Oni laughed once more, taking a swig from its wine glass and snapping its fingers out of time to the bad music on the gramophone. Somewhere underneath layers of black and darkness, the moon joined in with its customary cackle. Maka was probably laughing somewhere, enjoying the company of a boy who was not him. And he could do nothing more than sit back and watch it all unfold, like he should have done before instead of letting warmth in. The drawer should have stayed shut.

He should have seen it coming.

* * *

"What are you doing still up?"

"Couldn't sleep."

"Oh . . . is it the Black Blood again?"

"Yeah."

" . . . "

" . . . So how was it, then?"

"All right, I guess. I don't know."

"What do you mean, 'you don't know'?"

"Well, it's not like it went _badly_ – but I don't think I really like the guy that much, to be honest."

"Why?"

"He's just too nice."

"What does that mean?"

"I guess . . . I don't know. It's hard to explain. I think I'm going to tell him I'd rather just stay friends.

"Okay."

He did not dare pause and think about his next words. He'd dodged a bullet this time but next time he wouldn't be so lucky – not if he let something like this happen again. He had to seize the day, had to make the most of it. This could not go back into the drawer. Without missing a beat, he let everything go.

" . . . In that case, want to go out for dinner on Friday night?"

"What, you mean, like a d-date?"

She may not have been his, but if he played his cards right, he could just end up being hers. As he watched her blush, the moon went quiet and the Oni slouched away. There was only the sound of the poignant silence between them, a silence he was determined to break.

"Yeah – like a date. I guarantee I could give you a better time than that guy, anyway, because we both know there's nothing nice about me . . ."

And on Friday night, when her lips suddenly attached to his and he almost stumbled back from the surprise of actually meaning something to somebody, and the drawer rattled as the negative thoughts of her leaving him for someone else exploded in a shower of fireworks, he had to say.

He'd _never _seen it coming.

* * *

**This update-a-day thing is killing me.**


	5. Chapter 5

**A/N: **_The swearing content in this borders on 'M'. Sorry._

**Catalysts  
(SoMa Week 2014)**

* * *

**Day Five  
Wounds**

* * *

"Are you still alive?"

" . . . No. You?"

Maka groaned painfully, rolling onto her side – well, at least, onto what remained intact of it – as she tried to scope out her partner's body. Upon first inspection she couldn't see him, but when she managed to flip all the way over with a hiss of blinding pain; his legs were just visible out of the corner of her eye. She contemplated trying to make her way over to him, but as soon as her limbs began to scream in pain she merely gave up, slumping back down with a sigh of irritation and agony.

Her primary thought was that _everything_ hurt. Not one bone or sinew from the crown her head to the phalanges of her toes was anything other than throbbing and aching. Her left arm down to her hip was rapidly becoming drenched in blood and she could feel the cuts on her side, nicks following the patterns of the claws of the creature who had managed to slice at them once before its head had made its way to the ground without the rest of its body. She shuddered remembering the blow – sharp, _sharp_ claws sinking into her flesh and making her cry out as her nerves temporarily went numb, making her drop her scythe and lose her footing.

A terrible error, but not usually a fatal one.

Well, that was, unless one was midway through an _aerial battle_ on said scythe.

Maka coughed yet again, cringing when she felt hot wetness in her throat and mouth. That couldn't be good. She felt like every single part of her had taken a heavy beating, had been punched by Black*Star one too many times. How could she screw up this badly? Although she'd already sliced the head clean off the beast before being hit, and therefore had believed it to be seconds from dead, she hadn't accounted for it having one final move up its sleeve. Its claws had lengthened and sharpened somewhat, hard and dark as obsidian, and had actually _dislodged _from their sockets to collide with her side just as she was beginning her descent to the ground.

Really, she should have expected something like this from a mission worthy of a three-star meister and Death Scythe. But that hadn't stopped her from ending up sprawled on the ground with cuts to the majority of her body from rolling down the decline and four puncture wounds on her shoulder, side, waist and the very top of her thigh. She was also pretty sure a rib had been cracked upon her impact, although it hadn't been so bad considering the majority of her landing was blocked by –

_That idiot._

She flopped onto the ground weakly, whining slightly when she felt the red dampness spreading, but stayed in such a position as to be able to see Soul a little better. He had ended up a tree away from her, and by the way he was half-curled up, his fall down the decline had been stopped by his chest hitting it with enough force to do more than crack a rib. His right pant-leg was covered in dirt and the left one seemed to have been soaked with blood around the lower shin. She winced.

If she'd thought _she'd_ hit the ground hard, what must it have been like for him? Because when her hand had dropped away from his shaft in midair, he had consequentially fallen to the ground too. He would have been far better off if he hadn't transformed, but he _had_, to try and absorb most of the force of her fall by landing first. Anyone else would be dead on impact.

Black Blood had its advantages like that. His wavelength was still slightly bent as he reigned back in the mad power he'd had to unleash to keep him alive through that one – she could feel it in the back of her mind. Her brain was still hazy but her Perception seemed to be working well enough to pick out the differences in his usually-steady and melodic soul.

She'd be giving him a right proper yelling right now if her lungs didn't feel like lumps of concrete in her bruised and tattered chest.

Still, she tried. She was Maka Albarn, after all – if Soul 'Eater' Evans did something stupid, even if she was a hundred miles away and on her last dying breath, she'd use it to insult him for being such an uncool moron. "You – complete idiot," she managed to gasp out.

"Shut up," was all he could reply with before he coughed. It sounded wet and worrying, but Maka knew he would be all right. With the liquid madness in his veins, it would take a lot more than a hard fall to kill him. They'd managed to harness his powers without either of them falling into insanity ten months ago on the moon; he should be able to heal himself up a little bit before anything too bad befell them. Besides, she was in so much pain that everything seemed rather calm, with no cause for alarm. There was nothing to do but lie here for a little while until one of them somehow got the strength up to move, right?

Before she could say anything, Soul gave a low growl that sent the hairs on her arms to attention like soldiers at the end of a sergeant's call. She tried to roll her head around to see his face, but she could _sense_ the scowl on his face good enough. His legs moved slightly as he tried to readjust himself, and then she heard the soft _thump _of him giving up and flopping onto the forest floor again. He hissed in pain, further cuing her curiosity, because he was usually so hesitant to give any signs of being hurt badly.

Then again, they both seemed to be too far into the zone of _too injured to give a flying fuck_ to care.

"Fuck me," he groaned as he tried to move again. "I can't believe this."

"What?"

"I've broken my _Death-damn fucking arm._"

Her increasing heart rate slowed back down as she expelled a breath – he'd almost had her really worried for a second. "Which one?"

"Right."

"Crap, that's your writing arm."

"Nah," he muttered. "Ambidextrous. But it's the one I usually use as a scythe blade _and_ I can't play the piano with a fucked up arm."

She moaned sympathetically. "If it makes you feel better, my arm looks like spaghetti. Maybe we'll get matching scars."

"That's a bit cute," he replied drily, before somehow managing to pitch himself up. He disappeared from her line of sight momentarily as he dragged himself into a sitting position. She tilted her head, and there he was trying to stand up.

His hair was matted with a combination of dirt, blood and leaves. His cheek was cut, presumably from a falling branch, and his shirt was completely torn from the shoulder to his other side. While he held the collarbone of his right shoulder with his left hand, his right arm dangled uselessly from its socket like some sort of marionette with cut strings. She knew he'd absolutely kill himself without the use of all of his limbs, and a burning sense of guilt took hold in her stomach. Without his piano, he'd go stir crazy in the hospital.

By the looks of things, they'd both be in there for a while.

Her hopes rose as he managed to take about two steps forward, but then he swayed and with a brief exclamation of _'Shit!'_ he came crashing back down to the ground again. This time, he landed about a metre away from her. She took one look at the disgruntled expression on his face and a shit-eating grin spread across her own. She ignored the dribble of blood that ran from the corner of her mouth to her chin.

"That was graceful as Hell."

"Be quiet, at least I could stand – _oh, fuck, fucking Hell!_"

Her amusement died away as he rolled onto his side to face her, freeing his arm from underneath his body. It looked so weird, splaying out the other way, and he scowled again tightly as he used his left hand to drop the stupid thing in front of his chest.

"Are you okay?" she asked. It came out almost in a whisper.

His face cleared slightly at the worry peeking through her tone, and he managed to half-smile. "Just peachy. How about y – holy crap, what happened to your ribs?"

"Where did you think those stupid claws hit me, idiot?"

He cringed. "Does it hurt badly?"

She debated lying to try and ease the sudden concern on his face, but it wouldn't be worth it in the long run. " . . . Yeah. Like a bitch."

Soul's face darkened at the prospect of her being hurt so badly. She knew this would be in the forefront of his mind for the next week at least, and sighed. He always overreacted when she got the slightest injury in battle, let alone the fact that it was her job to be in danger and by protecting her he usually came out looking ten times worse. To try and lighten the mood – as much as possible considering both of them were thinking something along the lines of _'Shinigami, just cut all my arms and legs off so it hurts less'_ – she glanced around at the forest around them.

"This place is kind of pretty, don't you think?" she asked.

"Sure, lovely," he grunted. "Great view. I'll bring you on a picnic next time we visit."

She grinned tiredly. "I'll hold you to that – but only if you make the sandwiches."

"Of course I will; everyone knows I'm the God of Sandwich Making. Screw the God of Death and Warrior God shit they've got going back home. _That's _an achievement."

She would have punched his arm if hers wasn't moments from falling off and if his had any sort of nerve sense in it at the moment, but she settled for half-heartedly throwing a clump of leaves at him. He snorted and flicked a stick at her. They stayed like that for a few minutes, entertaining themselves and taking their minds off the pain, before a new question came to the forefront of her mind.

"Hey, Soul? How are we going to get home? Neither of us can fly in this condition."

"Black*Star and Tsubaki should be done their part of the mission by now, yeah? I doubt it could take that idiot long to track down a spell book for Mabaa-sama, even if we've taken down the main guards," Soul reasoned, but he looked less than confident in his friend's abilities. When it came to combat, Black*Star was unbeatable. When it came to not getting sidetracked on a mission, Black*Star was unbelievable. "When we don't meet up at the relay point he'll come look for us."

"He doesn't have Soul Perception like me, stupid," she reminded him.

He grinned wolfishly. "Yeah, but he'll be able to sense us. With the amount of mud you've got all through your hair, you probably _stink_."

She threw a slightly larger rock at his legs, smiling when he griped and tried to kick it away. "You aren't exactly looking too hot yourself."

"Please," he snorted. "This is _me_ we're talking about. I always look cool."

She hummed, unconvinced. Given the circumstances, it would likely be hours before anyone came to help them if they couldn't get up themselves. She didn't want to bait him and piss him off when they'd be each other's only source of company for a while.

Then again, spending time with her partner was almost always easy, no matter what state they were in.

"So what do you think we should do as preparation for Sid's upcoming evaluation exam?"

He moaned heavily, his shoulders slumping, and shook his head. "Seriously, Maka? You're, like, _ten minutes_ from unconscious due to blood loss and you want to talk about _exams_? I should have known. Only you, bookworm."

"Hey!" she bristled. "It's in three weeks so we're going to need to start prepping soon. Apparently he's looking for strong connections between partners in wavelength, resonance, and abilities to interact when separated."

"Aren't we already top shit at all that stuff?"

"Yes, but we need to be _perfect_; this will be the first exam of this kind I've taken since becoming a three-star and I have to be able to prove I deserved the rank."

"Who do you think is dumb enough that they're gonna' try and take it off _you_? You earned that title and if anyone comes after it, I'll kick their ass so you can keep your perfect record."

"That isn't the point," she said, hiding her pleasure at the statement behind a scowl and stiffening when she pulled the skin too tight over her cracked lips, making more blood run. "We need to make sure our distance resonance is stable and strong."

He seemed to weigh up his reply for a while. "All right – wanna' practice now, then?"

"While we're both about to faint?"

He did some sort of weird movement with the one un-pinned shoulder than she guessed was meant to be a shrug. "Nothing else to do for a while, is there? Unless you reckon you can move enough to support both of us, 'coz I can't even transform without crying a little bit right now."

"Okay," she conceded with a faint smile. "How about I think of something and you've got to use our resonance link to figure out what it is? We'll take it in turns."

"So, basically, a kickass partners-version of _I Spy_?"

" . . . Yeah, pretty much."

"'Kay, go for it."

She nodded and expanded her soul wavelength, letting it reach out across the small space and pool in the opening within his soul she sensed inside her chest. Simultaneously, he filled the gap within her own, and she felt his presence surround her in basic Resonance.

They were so far ahead of the class with this now that it seemed hilarious to think they were one of the last partnerships to manage it within their group. Just last week, Maka had managed to control Soul's piano through the link with her in the top tower of the school's left wing and him mid-way into the forestry area. That was until Black*Star found Soul and decided it would be funny to tackle him while he was zoned out and concentrating.

The scythe-mark he'd left would probably scar when it finally healed.

As soon as their Resonance was established, she closed her eyes and tried to think of something for him to guess. Given her fatigue and desire to steer the subject away from pain, she decided to settle on an image of Professor Stein's wheeled chair.

It took him about half a minute to figure out what it was with only one clue – _class room_ – and she thought that was pretty good considering their current state and weakness.

"Okay, your go," she said, and he nodded, closing his own eyes.

She took a few seconds to savour his appearance, with his walls down and his expressions vulnerable as he focussed on her essence and ignoring his own wounds. He looked – so much younger. So less haughty and aloof. So much more . . . alive. It was funny how having such a close brush with death lit up his features to her like nothing else did. Here, he was too tired to care . . .

"Right. Guess."

She closed her own eyes, willing herself to connect to his soul deeper than she already was. As she delved into his wavelength, she instantly felt the pressure of his tiredness and the pain he was in. She could sense the effort it was taking to keep their souls linked and the amusement at playing such a nerdy game at such a time. There was also some sort of odd sentiment, a sense of affection she didn't know the name of, but she knew where it led. Her face appeared seconds later behind her eyelids and she was surprised he would pick such an odd thing for his topic.

"Soul," she said with a pause, "is it . . . my _nose?_"

"Yep."

"Why the Hell did you pick that, of all things?"

The Resonance link throbbed a little with their combined weariness, both sensing that the connection could break any moment now, but he still grinned lopsidedly, giving another demented shrug. "You have a cute nose."

"I do?" she said, not bothering to hide her blush this time. He'd feel it through the link anyway.

"Yeah," he nodded, and his smile looked less solid and more tired. The connection drifted down into lower resonance before Maka took pity on his sleepy appearance and cut it, letting them both just lie there again without extra strain. They could still feel each other's souls to an extent – they always could, especially this close. "Good practice."

"We should be fine for this test." Her own eyes felt heavier now that she'd merged Soul's feelings with her own, and despite logic telling her that falling asleep with this much blood on her was a bad plan, she couldn't care enough to fight it. "No problems at all."

He snorted softly, his eyes closed now. "Of course we won't have any problems. We're a lethal team, aren't we?"

She gave a calm smile, letting her own lids fall as she breathed in deeply around the pain. "Yeah. We are."

* * *

It took Black*Star another hour and a half to get there, and between his complaints at having to carry Soul's unconscious form and his constant checking that Tsubaki was all right holding Maka up, he couldn't help but wonder a little at his best friends. Despite their wounds and the pain they had to have been in, they'd both passed out with smiles on their faces.

Although how anyone could manage that without _his _Godly presence there, he wasn't entirely sure. Still, as long as his disciples were okay, he was content.

Even if he _was_ going to get the Hell knocked out of him when Soul awoke, after he accidentally dropped the scythe down a hill and into a shallow river bed.

Twice.

* * *

**Sorry I was late uploading this (depending on your timezone, but I think I was late everywhere?). There was literally no more than ten and a half hours total from the time I left work last night to the time I started this morning, so I had no time to properly upload or do much more than sleep a little.**


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